


Eidolon

by imperfectkreis



Series: Made to Break [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Body Horror, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:09:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8687098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: It was an experiment. The Outsider built better bodies to sate his curiosity, to steal precious hours with his treasured Marked.  He spent his time trying to remember the contours of their touches, the warmth he learned to share.(No Dishonored 2 content)





	

The Outsider feels the burn of Corvo’s hands against his borrowed flesh, even as the flesh itself dissolves. And it does dissolve, faster than he can cling to it, shackle it to stolen bones. The Outsider’s experiment falls apart, his patchwork body disintegrating to pieces against Corvo’s sheets. He can't hold on. He can't make the tendons in his false body obey. In his mouth, he grits his teeth, but then his mouth is empty. Then he has no mouth.

The sensation of Corvo’s blood-warm body against his cuts out immediately. The Void swallows up that warmth, siphons it for itself. But the Outsider can still feel where Corvo gripped his hips, where Corvo’s lips pressed against his neck.

It had been so long. Maybe, it never had been at all.

The Outsider cannot say that he regrets his fate, being made master of the Void. It is difficult to find his position in the cosmic order anything but a boon. But just for a stolen hour, he had the opportunity to feel Corvo’s breath against the hollow that cannot be filled. And now, it's gone.

He cannot regret, but he can miss what he had. What he should not have stolen.

Pulling Corvo after him, through the Void, they exchange what passes as pleasantries. 

Corvo thinks that the Outsider must hate him, for having wanted to take him to bed. But the Outsider is under no delusions about his appearance, the long, pale lines of his body, the milky flesh, smooth and devoid of blood. He knows it is attractive, enticing, even to men like Corvo, who hold onto vestiges of propriety with bloody hands. He knows how Corvo wants him, but said nothing for an age. And he knows how Corvo still dreams of Jessamine’s body sleeping next to him, in the bed where their daughter now lays her head.

Do you despise me now?” Corvo asks, full of deep sincerity. 

“I cannot. I thought I would. But I cannot.”

And it is true, because while the Outsider obscures the truth, speaks in shadows, he doesn't lie. Lying is so unbecoming of his station. He could lie, but he doesn't.

Under Corvo’s feet, the stones shift. With all his feline grace, Corvo keeps his balance. In the illuminated darkness, the white that has speckled his beard over the time they've been apart glows bright. The years have been so, so kind to Corvo.

It was never his desire to hate Corvo, his most cherished Marked. But he worried that he might. Because as much as the Outsider may taunt, insinuating about the gluttony and lust of men, such intimacies were nothing he knew of firsthand in his brief, mortal life.

He tosses Corvo back out of the Void, just as easily as he can be enticed in. Once the Outsider is certain that the seal holds, he puts ringed fingers to his face, dropping to his knees. Even freed from his unstable, temporary body, he is exhausted.

\--

The Outsider does not think it a vulnerability, a lapse in his judgement. No. This is a careful, measured decision. While he may have come to his conclusions quite suddenly, they are not without deliberation.

He has had four thousand years to observe, to learn. Had he wanted, he could judge as well, arbitrate the multitude of sins humans burden themselves with, that they defined for themselves. But making decisions for them has never brought him joy.

Joy is not a condition of his position of power.

And yet, he feels it, sometimes. 

It would have been easier, truly, had the Void stripped him of his faculties, left him a hollow doll with empty eyes, seated on a throne of slate. He could reside here, care for this place, that both is and isn't, just as well without the shackles of emotion. 

Crafting a body on the mortal plane took far more energy than he had anticipated. In truth he was not certain until the moment his bones materialized in Corvo’s chambers, that he would be able to hold a coherent body at all. Before that, it was only an idea, a concept. Fear settled through him, even as his heart started to cobble together, that the end result would be monstrous. But it wasn't. 

Once the body was stitched, the Outsider looked as he did in the Void, in dreams. And Corvo had taken him to bed. 

Corvo had been everything the Outsider knew he would be. Warm and passionate, attentive and overwhelming. He'd held the body below him down and whispered sweet affections for a man who should not be real. 

The Outsider had achieved more on his first attempt than he thought possible. Holding Corvo’s face between his hands as he fucked into his flesh, filled him with his cock. Feeling every inch of Corvo inside him, under him, over him, as they traded places, hands skittering over bloodless skin. The Outsider drank what pleasure he could from Corvo’s mouth, from his body too, and the promises Corvo could not speak. The Outsider would not have answered, in any case.

And even now, the Outsider can feel him, ghosting fingers across his hips.

But it's less than it was yesterday, or the day before. The memory of their coupling is still bright in the Outsider’s vision, but it dulls in its tactility. There shouldn't be remnants of the touches they shared. That body is long gone.

He could make another.

More than that, he could make a better shell to hold him. He could improve on his experiment. 

The Outsider knows for certain that he cannot change his face, his stature, he cannot look other than he is. When he first melded with the Void, let it seep into his veins and fill up what those who sacrificed him drained away, he had tried, so desperately, to change into something else.

In this first moments in the Void, he had still been terrified of a death that already claimed him. He'd tried to fashion himself into a monster, with great teeth and a heavy belly. Something to devour the men who cut his wrists and throat. But he failed. Only being able to make himself a few inches taller, his features, a few years older.

But that had been enough. Because he no longer looked a boy, but a man instead. A man who could kill those who would do him harm, even if now he eluded their reach. And when he stopped being afraid, a great many more things became possible. 

The Outsider resolves to try his experiment again. To make himself solid, as warm as he can manage, in Corvo’s chambers. Even if his last attempt had been unstable, worse still is the idea he’ll never feel the brush of Corvo’s fingertips again.

He gives it time, waiting for the best moment to project back into the mortal plane. Watching Corvo go about his duties, the Outsider becomes accustomed to the schedule Corvo has kept for the last fifteen years. 

Before this, the Outsider hasn't had reason to watch. He marked Corvo to see what changes he could conjure during the Rat Plague, all those years ago. When Corvo refused to slaughter his adversaries, the Outsider could not look away, taken with how effectively, how efficiently, Corvo moved through Dunwall, accomplishing everything he set out to do with more subtlety than the Outsider anticipated.

And in so doing, Corvo became very dear.

Corvo follows his daughter-Empress as she attends to her responsibilities, a silent shadow at her side. When aristocrats and dignitaries speak to him directly, he gives short, curt answers back. His shoulders tighten when asked to speak. He'd much rather go unseen.

Only after Emily goes to bed does he retire from her side, returning to his own suite of rooms. Four of his most trusted men and women watch over Emily as she sleeps. Beyond that, he has provided her with the best training he could. She is more than capable of protecting herself from harm. Never before has an Empress been so well prepared to guard herself. Corvo should be proud.

For weeks and weeks the Outsider watches, waiting for the right moment. When Corvo is relaxed enough to pour himself a glass of whiskey, a small indulgence, the Outsider sees his opportunity. 

Corvo used to drink with his lover, until they were both warm and loose, tumbling into the sheets together, tangling their bodies. Jessamine’s cheeks turning rose red. 

The Outsider only watched them once. And only because she was Empress. At the time, he had little interest in Corvo. He did not think of the encounter again, until much later.

Corvo sits before the fire, his feet perched high on his desk and ankles crossed. He keeps the tumbler of whiskey between his hands, savoring each sip.

The Outsider waits until he’s finished, allowing time to pour his second glass. This one, he drinks faster, throwing back his head to swallow the liquor down. His cheeks start to flush, just at the edges of his beard. 

Concentrating on the crackling fire, the Outsider thinks about the warmth the flames must provide, something tangible, undeniable. Then he considers Corvo’s hands, hot enough to burn him, sure as the sparks falling against the wrought iron grate of Corvo’s fireplace.

Constructing his eidolon is quick, but excruciating. A spike of pain as matter swirls, trying to structure the elemental bonds that will give him physical form. But it's a trick, an illusion. It is not the body he was born into, millennia ago. It's just a facsimile of some dream he had, when he was vulnerable and alone.

The pain passes quickly, as his joints lock into place, skin stretching over an ivory frame. The average palace has enough whale bone in reserve to make him tall, but slender. He very much feels like the slab of meat he is. Though the pain is gone, sensation thunders in his ears. Even if Corvo’s chambers are private, quiet except the crackling fire, the Outsider can still hear every breath of his dear one roaring through his senses.

Beneath his feet, the stones are cold, even through the plush carpet, even with the fire still burning. The air is cold and Corvo is loud. His feet feel like jelly and his lungs burn with each breath. When he was alive, the air was cleaner. Now the isles are covered with the fog of industry. The Outsider didn't think much of it, until he was forced to breathe.

Blood. This time, he needs blood in his veins, he needs his heart to pump. Corvo noticed, last time, that he was dry. The blood is the first thing they stole from him, drying him down to a husk. The Outsider needs it back.

His heart starts thudding, slow at first, then spiking, racing faster than his breathing. He grips his wrist, feeling his pulse there. He's done it. He's made blood from nothing but hope. It's inside him. He's sure of it.

Corvo still has not noticed him, his back turned away from where the Outsider stands, now fully formed. This time, the Outsider has forgotten clothing. No matter. He won't need it. If he wishes to enjoy Corvo as a conversation partner, he needn't go through all this trouble.

“Dear Corvo…” he makes his presence known, standing at Corvo’s back. The Outsider snakes his hands around the chair to run his fingers across Corvo’s broad shoulders, down along the center of his chest. Corvo stills under his touch, his breath quickening. The Outsider takes Corvo’s now-empty glass from frozen hands, setting it safely on the desk. Pity if it were to break. It's very old.

Corvo sucks down air; it's such a racket, “You're here.”

“I'm always here,” the Outsider taunts, though it isn't strictly true. He cannot see everything at once, his gaze only drifting to scenes he finds worthy of his attention.

He picks at top button of Corvo’s shirt, loosening it with a flick of his fingers. With Corvo’s collar open, he slots his hand flat against Corvo’s sternum, spreading his fingers wide. He feels every coarse hair cutting against his soft skin. Bending at the waist, the Outsider brings his lips close to Corvo’s ear. Corvo’s hair smells faintly of apple vinegar. “Did you want me to leave?” he teases.

Corvo shudders at the words, his hand coming up to rest on top of the Outsider’s, the barrier of his fine shirt between them, “No, don't go.”

The Outsider didn't expect Corvo to refuse him.

Drawing his hand away, the Outsider walks around Corvo’s chair, letting the Royal Protector glimpse his nude body, his second attempt. He hopes this one is better, sturdier. The one he stitched before fell to pieces before he was ready to depart.

Throwing his leg over Corvo’s hips, the Outsider straddles his lap, more than certain that Corvo can bear his weight. Corvo’s eyes go wide as he realizes the Outsider is already undressed, bare for his hands to wander, for his mouth to take. But the Outsider consumes first, drinking from Corvo’s parted lips, tasting the remains of ashy whiskey on his tongue, warm and heady. The Outsider never tasted wine before, spirits, ale. They are utterly foreign to his palate. Though they have long been given in offering, he has never been able to taste.

He is certain to grow drunk on Corvo’s kisses.

Corvo’s hands, hard and broken, his joints knotted from years of use, of trauma, curl around the Outsider’s hips. He can feel every divot, running along each digit. He can feel the fingerprints too. The unique markings that are Corvo’s signature upon him. 

The leather band Corvo uses to cover the Mark chafes at the Outsider’s skin. Tugging at one seam, the Outsider starts unwinding the wrap, revealing his Mark upon Corvo’s hand. He wants to see it, to feel it throbbing with their power.

The Outsider wraps his arms around Corvo’s shoulders, grinding his hips down against Corvo’s swelling cock. This time, with blood running through him, his cock should harden too, pressing against Corvo’s belly, signaling his desire.

Because he does desire. It is beyond his control that he does. His eternity may have been gentler, if he did not.

Corvo hisses when it happens, when the Outsider’s cock presses into his stomach. The Outsider cannot help but smile, it worked. He’s built a better body than the last one. There is a flush in cheeks and in his belly, a rolling warmth all his own.

Lifting the Outsider up and off his lap, Corvo instead spreads him across his desk. Littered with paper, pens, a well of ink, coins, the mundane objects of Corvo’s daily life, the Outsider can think of no less fitting place to be taken. He loves the prospect of its inappropriateness.

Corvo leans over, kissing him soundly, driving his tongue into the Outsider’s mouth. He keeps his hands around the Outsider’s legs, holding them aloft, wrapped tight over his hips. When they break apart to breathe, the Outsider can still taste him.

Wrapping one calloused hand around the Outsider’s cock, Corvo strokes him firmly, “You're so beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes fixed across the soft swell of the Outsider’s stomach. Next time, maybe, he’ll fix that too. He’ll make it flat, hard, with lightly defined abdominal muscles. He’ll sculpt his arms as well. There are a million things he can change, however subtle, as long as he keeps his focus.

Maybe, he’ll become the monster he dreamed of yet.

Corvo has to drop the Outsider’s legs to work open the buckle on his trousers. Shoving them down, he only does enough work to free his cock, keeping his other hand on the Outsider’s erection.

His touches are still delicate, exploring, searching out what the Outsider needs. Trying to appeal to a base desire that must be buried somewhere. The Outsider feels it too, trying to claw to the surface, rise from the grave.

Corvo rubs his cock against the swell of the Outsider’s ass in smooth strokes, fucking between his legs. Shifting their hips, he presses their cocks together, heat transferring between their bodies. He tries to wrap his hand around both of them at once, slicking their cocks together. The Outsider can feel everything, his eyes and mouth open, every single one of his pores barreling towards release.

“Fuck me,” the Outsider groans, urging Corvo on with a sharp thrust of his hips. “Put your cock inside me,” he demands.

Stepping away, Corvo opens his desk drawer, cursing when he cannot find what he needs. “I'll be right back,” he pecks at the Outsider’s lips with brief fondness, before heading towards the bed. He has to hold his pants up around his hips with one hand.

The Outsider cannot help but laugh, covering his mouth with both hands. He can feel parchment sticking to his back, clinging to him. The press of a marble-barreled pen, smooth against his side. His toes just barely brush against the floor, his shins warmer than the rest of him, as they are closest to the fire.

“What are you laughing about?” Corvo asks, the familiar flask of seed-oil in his hand. 

The Outsider smiles, “You thought to ravish me, as if in one of those tawdry novels that are so popular among the noble classes. But I caught you ill-prepared. It has ruined the moment,” the Outsider lolls his head to one side, his cheek pressing against the edge of a tossed-aside audiograph. The punctured holes in the card that render tones will leave pockmarks behind, cut into his face.

Placing the fine-cut oil bottle on the desk, Corvo drops to his knees between the Outsider’s legs. “I'll make it up to you,” Corvo promises. He hooks one leg over each of his shoulders before reaching forward, grabbing at the Outsider’s hips and dragging them to the edge of the desk.

The Outsider drops his heels against Corvo’s back, keeping his balance in this new position.

The oil forgotten for now, Corvo licks along the Outsider’s cock, from the tip down to the root, tounging against his balls before tracing his way back and swallowing down the head. Corvo suckles, just at the tip, laving over satin-smooth flesh before pulling off with a plop. The Outsider cannot look away. But Corvo does. He narrows his eyes and the Outsider can already anticipate the question on his lips.

“The Cultists,” he thumbs over the Outsider’s head, red and flushed with blood.

“They did not do that. It was customary for boys. Stop reminding me of- just stop.”

Corvo purses his lips, but says nothing more on the matter. The Outsider himself had forgotten that cutting boys was no longer in fashion. It never seemed terribly important, being little more than a brutal matter of style. He could not remember a single flash of coherent thought about the event. He must have been very young.

Licking him again, this time Corvo does not stop at the Outsider’s balls, venturing lower to press his mouth at the stretch of skin just below. He kisses against the Outsider’s perineum, darting his moistened tongue out.

The Outsider cannot help but groan in satisfaction, the tingling sensation fanning out through the fine hairs covering his temporary form. Yes, yes, he has done so much better this time, accomplished incrementally more. When Corvo repositions his mouth again, this time over the Outsider’s hole, the Outsider cannot help but keen in lust.

This man will be his second death. And his third, his fourth.

Corvo’s tongue presses against his rim, requesting gentle entrance. The Outsider breathes deeply, feeling his ribcage expand as paper lungs fill. He still tastes the ash in the air. It will still be there, long after this age has passed. Only in the briefest glimpses does he see the possible futures. And they are always changing. But he knows that these mechanical wonders society has crafted cannot hold forever. The clock will run out.

Corvo pierces the Outsider with his tongue, brushing inside of him, soaking his hole. Hissing in response, the Outsider tries to draw his legs closer to his body, but Corvo holds down, hard, pinning him in place. 

The Outsider can do little more than thrash in Corvo’s grip, enjoying what pleasures he provides. His cock strains against his stomach, wanting for release. “Now, Corvo,” he’ll never bring himself to say please. Corvo should be smug enough that he is so handsome as to have snared an Empress, then a God. He doesn't need further encouragement.

Corvo gives the Outsider one long, last lick before pushing himself to his feet. He takes the flask of oil, wetting his fingers and smearing slick over his cock. Thrusting his fingers into the Outsider’s hole, it doesn't take much now to prepare him for something larger. Still, the fingers rake. Not enough, but still good.

Positioning himself at the Outsider’s hole, Corvo slides smoothly in. Pushing until he reaches the hilt. The Outsider struggles to keep his eyes open. The last thing he wants is to look away. He's come here to see the way Corvo’s mouth twists in pleasure, the way sweat dots his forehead, to feel the press of his hands against his skin.

The long, slow drag of Corvo’s cock inside his hole stuns him all at once. Breaking down the few barricades he's kept erect when joining with this body. Last time was much the same. The Outsider had not been able to keep the illusion whole, his eyes shifting when he did not command them. Yes, the brown eyes, with brilliant whites, would make a more convincing facsimile of a human. But the Outsider had not thought to change his eyes. That they changed themselves was...worrisome.

He tries to focus on the feeling of fullness, Corvo’s flushed head brushing against his prostate, sending shimmering pleasure through his abdomen. Corvo’s hand is at the Outsider’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Corvo looks...pleased. Happy, perhaps, that this time he has made the Outsider hard. But it was not a fault of his, last time, that the Outsider could not become erect. Last time was impossible.

“So beautiful,” Corvo’s repeated so many times, but, somehow, the words don't lose their luster.

The Outsider reaches out with one hand, wrapping it around Corvo’s jaw. Tilting his head, Corvo kisses against the Outsider’s open palm, his tongue darting out along his fate line. 

But when Corvo opens his eyes again, staring back at the Outsider, his eyes go wide, horrified. He stills his hips, taking his hand to the Outsider’s cheek. When he pulls back his fingers, they are red.

“Your eyes…”

The Outsider rubs at his own face. But he already knows. He can smell the coppery tang in the air. His fingers are wet with blood. 

Pulling out, Corvo steps away from the desk before glancing down between his legs. His mouth twists in agony. The Outsider does not need to look up to know. His experiment has failed again.

He breaks his body.

And, Void, does it hurt.

The crash against the slate when he returns to the Void is infinitely less painful than the quick destruction of his body, though the Outsider still senses the impact. He's clothed again, the flush over his skin rapidly fading. But he still feels open and empty. His arms tremble as he pushes himself to his feet.

Rubbing at his face, the Outsider checks his hands. No blood. Of course not. He can imagine the scene he must have painted in Corvo’s chambers. Yes, he could look back upon it, skipping a moment or two to replay the past is easy. But he...does not want to see. He does not want to see himself through Corvo’s eyes. The horror and the fear. 

Corvo....

The Outsider pulls, yanking Corvo into the Void.

Corvo falls, sharply turning his practiced body to blunt the impact before he crashes down.

Putting his hands behind his back, the Outsider readies himself to speak. “You had to be so dramatic,” he drawls.

Corvo pushes himself to his feet, stepping close to get into the Outsider’s face. He gestures harshly, as if to scold the Outsider, “Dramatic? Void, how was I supposed to react? What would have been the normal thing to say when blood flowed from your eyes?”

The Outsider smiles, “I did not think you squeamish at the sight of blood, dear Corvo."

Grunting, Corvo turns away, crossing his arms over his chest, “It's not normally on my cock...and from the eyes,” he shudders, “it reminded me of…”

“The Rat Plague,” the Outsider supplies. He knows full well. “I assure you, that is not the cause.”

Corvo shakes his head, pressing one palm to his forehead, “I did not think….why though?”

The Outsider can only dismiss Corvo’s concerns, unwilling to explain. “It will not happen again.”

The wrinkle between Corvo’s eyes deepens as he frowns, “But…”

“I may visit you again,” the Outsider makes no promises, before throwing Corvo from the Void.

He had only wished to make sure that Corvo was….unharmed, after that horrific display. He did not intent to be subjected to his endless questions.

\--

The Outsider watches, he plans. He feels a stirring inside of him he does not like. He dismisses it.

Last time he wished for blood. But it was too much blood, oozing out when it should have stayed inside. Small mistake. Correctable. Though he can bestow powers onto others, it has been a long time since he has tried to stretch his own limits.

He’ll try again.

Corvo doesn't drink again. He goes about his days. Emily receives more and more letters from her suitor. Then they come to visit. 

Corvo is on edge. As Lord Protector, yes, but as a father too. But Wyman is not the first person to share Emily’s bed, and they may not be the last. The Outsider is...unsure. The future is never certain. The Outsider sees to that, personally.

Wyman leaves and Corvo broods, but still he does not drink. The Outsider grows tired of waiting. It's not as if the whiskey is a component of the spell. Only Corvo is more receptive, pleasant, if a bit melancholy, when he drinks.

Clothing is not important. The right volume of blood is. Fingers and toes in all the right places. Just enough body hair as to not look obscene. Perhaps a flattening of his stomach? The kind of sculpted musculature Corvo has maintained, despite his age, might be a bridge too far. In any case, perhaps part of the Outsider’s appeal is the visible frailty of his long, thin bones.

Corvo is at his desk, poring over reports. He receives dozens of such missives a day, from back alley informants, as well as formal correspondence. Though he will not admit to as much, he has grown somewhat soft within the Tower walls. His desire to stay at his daughter’s side means his own eyes are rarely on Dunwall proper. He relies upon the observations of others.

It is the trade Corvo as made.

Crosslegged and nude in Corvo’s bed, the Outsider calls for him, “Corvo."

Stamping his feet to the floor, Corvo swings around. His expression remains impassive, as he rises from his chair.

“Missed me, then?” the Outsider asks, leaning back and spreading his body across Corvo’s bed. The sheets are nicer than he expects, soft and lightly scented. The Outsider parts his thighs, exposing himself to Corvo’s heated gaze. He smiles, mostly to himself, pleased with Corvo’s quick reaction.

Drawing nearer, Corvo grabs the quilted blanket from the end of the bed, shaking it loose and trying, somewhat clumsily, to wrap it around the Outsider’s naked body. 

Resisting, the Outsider sneers, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?” Corvo argues back, lifting up the Outsider in his arms to make sure the blanket wraps all the way around. “Since you apparently cannot be bothered with decency anymore.” Once he finds the Outsider suitably entombed in his cloth prison, Corvo sits at the edge of the bed, turned to look the Outsider in the eyes.

“Why would I? We both know why I am here. We both know you desire me.”

Corvo looks away, back into his smoldering fireplace. The flames are starting to burn low. The hour is late. “That does not mean...you do nothing for the sake of others.”

The Outsider laughs, tugging at the blanket’s hem. The fabric is coarse and scratchy, not meant to come directly in contact with skin. There is something pleasant about the warmth, though. And it smells like Corvo. They wash the blankets less frequently than the sheets. The Outsider keeps his mouth obscured by the blanket’s edge, but his words are clear enough. “Everything I do is for the sake of others.” Why else bother with a world he can't inhabit any longer?

Although, here he is, a form of flesh and (the right amount of) blood. So he can inhabit this world. He can live. Even if it is only in brief snatches.

The Outsider is more powerful than he himself ever realized. He has given himself back what the Cultists took. And still, he keeps what they gave him.

Lust burns tight in his belly. He wants Corvo. He wants him now.

“We will finish what we’ve started,” the Outsider promises, shoving the blanket from his shoulders, only to pool around his hips. He grabs Corvo by the front of his shirt, dragging him down into bed to lay beside him.

They kiss, wet and heavy. The Outsider can already taste Corvo’s questions. Too many. Corvo’s hand skims along the Outsider’s ribs, dipping in between each bone. “I cannot,” Corvo insists.

The Outsider reaches between their bodies, squeezing at Corvo’s cock, hard between his legs, “You will.”

Corvo grabs his wrist, pulling the Outsider’s hand away. “You bled,” Corvo stresses, “on my cock. From your eyes. What is going on?”

One of the things the Outsider came to adore about Corvo is how he trusted, accepted, the Outsider’s intervention in his life. But that was a different time. When Corvo was brimming with anger and grief and anxiety. When his whole world came crashing down.

Now Corvo is an old man, and he wants to understand. Pity.

“I am making these bodies for you to fuck. What more is there to explain?”

Corvo’s hand ghosts from the Outsider’s side to his neck, his warmth trailing with every swipe, “You're making mistakes,” Corvo realizes.

The Outsider could lie. He could do it. He really, really could. But he doesn't. “There have been flaws in each permutation. But I believe this one to be more stable.”

“I'm not laying with this body,” Corvo states firmly. “Let’s do something else.”

The Outsider laughs, “What? Even now you wish to lay with me. Stop lying.”

“That’s true. But I also do not way to lay with you. I can want both things at the same time.”

“Of course,” even now, the Outsider is fond of Corvo’s surprises. 

“I mean it,” Corvo may say he is not going to bed the Outsider, but his hand travels again, this time running down the Outsider’s back, coming down, down, down, until he grabs at the Outsider’s ass, drawing their bodies together. He is still deliriously hard. The Outsider is hard as well, rutting against Corvo’s groin. “What else can we do?” Corvo smiles.

Annoyed, the Outsider turns away, showing his back to Corvo. He should smash this body to shards, if Corvo now finds it so undesirable. It serves little purpose. They can just as well speak in the Void. That would command less of the Outsider’s attention. Less painful too.

A warm arm snakes around the Outsider’s waist, then Corvo presses his chest to the Outsider’s back, the scratch of his hair rough against new skin. Corvo rests his head close to the Outsider’s neck, kissing briefly against the vertebrae.

“Sleep with me.”

The Outsider places his hand over top of Corvo’s. He can feel the pulse of the Mark, more distinctively his than anything else he could give to Corvo. It's their nuptials. A shame, that Corvo must share him with so many others. Though not like this, tangled in Corvo’s sheets.

“I’m trying,” the Outsider jokes. Though he knows what Corvo means. 

\--

The Outsider expects his body to break up, like sea foam against the rocks, as he sleeps. That he sleeps at all is curious. But he can feel his consciousness hovering at the edge of the Void, close enough to step inside, but he doesn’t cross the threshold. Corvo is there too, at his back, arm still thrown around his waist, lips at the Outsider’s neck. The Outsider could tip them both forward into the Void, but he restrains himself.

When he wakes, and his body is still whole, fear grips him, a arsenic pit in his chest.

This shouldn’t have happened. The body isn’t meant to last. It’s disposable. 

But the Outsider holds his hand in front of his face, flexing his fingers wide. The joints move without resistance. Wrapped around his wrist is the silvery line the Cultists cut into him. Next time, he’ll erase it.

Corvo’s arm squeezes around his waist.

“Good morning,” Corvo’s voice is gravely. Already starting deep, the extra edge of his tone goes straight to the Outsider’s cock. It’s embarrassing, how easily Corvo seduces, crawls under the Outsider’s skin.

“You’ve gotten what you wanted,” the Outsider says, suddenly quite annoyed with Corvo for having kept him here. Though there is a comfort to their scene. One that the Outsider is unfamiliar with.

Now, now is the time to leave this husk, return to the Void. If he has the desire to fuck Corvo again, he’ll craft a new body. That will punish Corvo for holding him captive during the night. Keeping him locked in the delightful prison of his bed.

“Goodbye, dear Corvo."

By the time Corvo realizes what the Outsider means, turning the body in his bed over, the Outsider has already vacated it, leaving a corpse behind.

The pain of leaving is no less bearable. But at least it is terribly brief. The Outsider feels the stinging of his severed connection. He wants to scream, but that would bring him little comfort.

In the Void he puts his hand to his chest, then holds it in front of his eyes. Pulling down his shirt cuff, he examines one wrist, then the other. They are unmarked. As they always are in the Void. Curious, that they would be different, in the flesh.

He knows Corvo calls for him, but this time, the Outsider does not call back. Corvo does not need his condolences. Whatever remains of his body, Corvo can dispose of himself. It's not as if the man doesn't know what to do with a corpse.

\--

The next time they meet, it is in the Void.

The circumstances are less than ideal. 

Corvo’s face is streaked with blood. It has been a long time since Corvo used his powers, even longer since he has been so reckless. They Overseers suspect that he has devoted himself to the Outsider. But Corvo is both more and less a heretic than they can imagine.

Well, that doesn't matter now.

“That was, messy,” the Outsider comments. It is Corvo’s duty to protect his Empress. By any means necessary. He answers to no one. 

Corvo barks, “I did what had to be done. You never gave me conditions,” he wipes his arm across his lips, smearing still-warm blood into his mouth, no doubt. 

The man who stands before the Outsider is not the aging father Corvo was yesterday. He is also not the brash man of eighteen, sent North like a prized pig, trussed up for a feast. He is beautiful and vicious and wrecked.

“Anything, for your Empress, I assume.”

Lashing out, Corvo lunges at him. Stepping aside, the Outsider sees to it that he stumbles. He is too graceful to fall.

“Are you going to tell her? About the attempt on her life this evening? I wonder…”

“No,” Corvo’s anger is still there, only the embers are lower. He realizes that here the Outsider is untouchable. “She does not need to know.”

“There are wolves at your gates,” the Outsider will not tell Corvo more than that, “it is best that you put them down.”

\--

Corvo spends more time outside the Tower walls. He thinks, now, that he can best protect the Empress from a distance. Maybe that is true. Maybe it doesn't matter.

The Outsider arrives early, well aware that Corvo is still springing from rooftop to rooftop, scanning Dunwall for threats while his little girl sleeps. It's almost precious.

This time, the Outsider renders clothing, simple, and easy to remove. But at least he's wearing something. When Corvo began caring so much about decorum, the Outsider isn't sure. 

He's fairly sure everything about this body is correct, except when he looks at his wrists, the scars are still there. While he waits for Corvo, the Outsider putters around his quarters, reading Corvo’s letters, sniffing his untouched whiskey, rifling through his drawers. Finding a hand mirror, the Outsider looks upon his own face, tracing the scar along his neck from ear to ear with one pointed finger. Pity. There are just so many variables to consider. At least his stomach is flat this time.

Corvo arrives through the open window, tucking his large body through the much smaller gap. The Outsider puts the mirror back down, resting his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

“Corvo."

Before saying anything, Corvo finishes climbing through the window, settling his feet on the stones and pushing down his hood. Dressed in dark fabrics, his face is still obscured by Piero’s mask. His dark hair, speckled through with gray, curls around his ears. Corvo has allowed it to grow long. It suits him. Everything does.

Removing his mask, Corvo frowns, “Why are you here?”

Why is the Outsider ever here?

“To bother you,” he jokes. “To improve upon my invention.”

“Ah, yes, I must be the test rat, as always.” He opens a desk drawer, storing the mask inside a velvet lined box. It is quite dear to him, even after all these years. Ignoring the Outsider, he racks his sword and firearm.

The Outsider perches himself on the edge of Corvo’s desk, waiting for his return, he runs his hand over Corvo’s collection of possessions, trying to draw the Lord Protector’s ire.

“I'm tired. I'm going to bed.” Corvo does not turn around, instead occupying himself with closing the window, latching it tight. He drums his fingers against the sill, “You may join me. If you'd like.”

“Oh, thank you for giving me permission,” the Outsider scoffs. “Maybe I had something else in mind?”

“I know exactly what you had in mind,” Corvo starts stripping from his clothes, pulling off layer by layer and tossing them aside. The Outsider watches from the desk, curling his fingers around the lip, he bites his nails into the wood. He wants to rake his fingers down Corvo’s chest, watching red welts rise up from his brown skin.

There is a bowl of fresh grapes on Corvo’s desk. Stepping forward, Corvo grabs a handful, shoving them into his mouth like the brute he sometimes is. He chews them messily, bulging out his cheek on one side. The Outsider turns his attention to the bowl. Grapes were not common where he…

Concerned with the fruit in a way he has never been, the Outsider plucks two from their woody stems. He puts them both on his tongue at once, at a loss for what to do next. They don't taste like anything at first, just slightly waxy skin. He pushes one to his back molars, biting down.

The grape explodes under his teeth, overwhelming sourness coating his tongue, filling his mouth with an unpleasant wetness. Void, Corvo eats these all the time? Why? They are awful.

The Outsider does not want to bite down on the second grape. He doesn't even want to swallow the one he's punctured. Corvo looks back at him in confusion. Only then does the Outsider realize that his face must be contorted.

Disgusted with the grapes, and unsure how to proceed, the Outsider opens his mouth, letting the whole grape fall out past his lips and into his waiting hand. He forces out the remnants of the mutilated grape as well, but that requires the use of his tongue and he must taste it again. Awful.

Corvo remains speechless.

“What the fuck?” Now he is left with a handful of half-eaten grapes. There is no obvious way to discard them.

Corvo laughs, pressing his hand to his forehead. 

The Outsider scowls, flinging his hand so the grapes go flying, landing on Corvo’s rug. That stretch of weaving must cost an imperial fortune. The Outsider doesn't care one bit about ruining it.

Plucking another grape from the bowl, Corvo puts it to his lips. This time, he bites down on it with his front teeth. The Outsider cannot comprehend how he enjoys them. “A bit sour, but to be expected this time of year.”

“They're atrocious,” the Outsider will not be dissuaded. “Now you must help me forget the taste.”

“You're really petulant, you realize? I believe it now. That the last time you were human, you were young.” Though he has not drunk liquor in months, Corvo pours a finger of whisky into the clean glass already upon his desk, just next to the Outsider’s hip. He takes the glass in hand, trying to pass it to the Outsider, “this seemed to suit your palate, last time.”

Refusing the glass, the Outsider smiles, “Drink it. Let me taste it from your lips.”

Corvo grins back.

“Besides, you need to wash away the taste of grapes before I'll kiss you again.”

“Ah,” Corvo says quite seriously, “now I know how to keep you out of my chambers.” But for all his derision, Corvo downs his whiskey, depositing the tumbler back on the desk. He takes the Outsider’s face between his hands, kissing him soundly, sharing the bite the liquor leaves behind.

The Outsider opens to him, wrapping his arms around Corvo’s torso. He tries to drag Corvo down on top of him, but Corvo stops their descent, placing his palms against the desk and locking his elbows.

“Not here,” he insists. “I hurt you.”

It takes the Outsider a moment to remember, because, in truth, while this experiment has been painful, none of his discomfort originates with Corvo. He smiles, when he realizes, “You did not hurt me. You cannot hurt me.”

“You bled.”

“From an excess of blood. It did not hurt.”

Taking one hand off the desk, Corvo instead runs his fingers through the Outsider’s hair. “What is your name?” he asks.

The Outsider will never tell him. He has forgotten. He made himself forget.

“Dear Corvo, you're so sentimental.”

“So are you,” Corvo accuses. His fingers drift to the Outsider’s neck. “Even after all these years,” his index finger brushes across the Outsider’s jaw. “You still love us. Care for us. You can't let us go. You tend to this world,” Corvo swallows hard.

The Outsider cuts off anything more Corvo might say, indecent in his affections. He seals their lips together, trying to coax Corvo to act with his body instead. This is why he is here, so that Corvo can tend to him.

Grabbing the Outsider around his hips, Corvo hoists him off the desk. The Outsider locks his ankles behind Corvo’s back, keeping their bodies close as Corvo carries him to the bed.

Once the Outsider’s back is against the mattress, Corvo is meticulous in undressing him, careful with each button, gentle with the fabrics, working until the Outsider is bare. This is proceeding better that the Outsider expected, even with a chill falling against his skin when Corvo pulls away.

Corvo shoves down his trousers, climbing into the bed and blanketing the Outsider’s body with his own. They kiss, low and languid, sharing breaths, but no words. Corvo touches him, everywhere, with reverence and desire. Their cocks grinding against each other, the Outsider allows himself to moan into Corvo’s open mouth. The friction will tear him down.

Corvo chuckles, a strange sound in the quiet of the room, “I'd thought...that this was not something you wanted. That it was only for my benefit.”

“You said it yourself,” the Outsider tilts his head against the sheets, “I am not so selfless.”

“True, so I tried to figure out what it was you wanted in return,” Corvo slots his hands between the mattress and the Outsider’s back, urging the Outsider’s back to arch up off the bed, to push their chests close. 

“But you know now?” He grinds his body up, against Corvo’s, trying to keep them moving.

“Mm, I have some idea,” Corvo smiles, “were I a younger man, I would have figured it out earlier.”

“You were an ass when you were a young man.”

“I was but,” he spikes his hips against the Outsider’s, “I was an ass who knew my own value.”

“Exaggerated your own value.”

Corvo kisses against the Outsider’s neck, then his sternum, his stomach, tracing a path down, “You're here in my bed,” Corvo smirks, “you're a god fashioning bodies to take my cock. How could I possibly exaggerate?”

The Outsider is certain he has created a monster in Corvo. But when Corvo wraps his lips around the head of the Outsider’s cock, he can't bring himself to care.

Corvo’s mouth is warm and wet and unskilled. But the Outsider can only judge by what he has seen, not by what he has felt. And it feels as if everything has narrowed to the space between his legs, where his cock disappears into Corvo’s mouth. Reappearing as Corvo pulls off, slick with spit and painfully hard. The Outsider tries to roll his hips to thrust his cock deeper down Corvo’s throat, but Corvo holds him down with one hand against his hip.

Void, it's good. It can possibly be this good. What starts without skill or direction quickly turns all consuming, Corvo learning from every gasp and shiver, adjusting his angle, his pace, he learns with subtle movements and quiet sighs.

The Outsider comes quickly, spilling into Corvo’s mouth, against his lips as he starts pulling off. His heart rate is rapid, sweat bubbling from his skin. The Outsider is certain he's about to tear, that he's going to land, alone, in the Void, Corvo left with another corpse or plume of smoke.

Self-satisfied with his performance, Corvo creeps back up the Outsider’s body. But his smile falters when he looks at the Outsider’s face.

“Your eyes…”

The Outsider doesn't think he's bleeding again. Pressing the pads of his fingers under his eyes, they come away dry. “What?” then he realizes what has caused Corvo to look so sad, so fond. The Outsider throws his arm over his eyes, “Don't look, don't,” he rasps. Because the Outsider doesn't want to leave. But he also doesn't want Corvo to see.

“They're beautiful, though, like the rest of you.”

“He’s dead,” he refers to the boy he once was, with brown eyes and black hair, and a frail body, barely sustained by the scraps he could gather from the waste piles the well-off left behind.

“You're not.”

“I'm not him.”

“Only in the way I'm not that man of eighteen.”

The Outsider scoffs.

“Please,” Corvo begs, “let me see.”

The Outsider frowns, “Why? Do you find them prettier than how I really look? How I am meant to appear? Is that it?” He keeps his arm firmly in place.

Suitably admonished, Corvo does not ask to see his eyes again. The Outsider focuses on trying to shift them back, returning them to a consistent black, rather than flecks of earthy warmth, bracketed by emotive whites.

Corvo holds him while they wait, a sturdy, warm body at the Outsider’s side.

Once he is certain his eyes have returned to normal, the Outsider drops his arm. Turning, his faces Corvo, only to find him asleep. No matter.

Corvo wakes the next morning to an empty bed.

\--

“We cannot meet again,” The Outsider tells Corvo in the Void.

Corvo says nothing, waiting for the Outsider to continue. He wears his hair tied back loosely. Really though, he needs it cut.

“You are beginning to want things that I cannot provide you.”

Corvo Attano has long wanted impossible outcomes. The trouble is, he is used to making them a reality. Even before he was gifted with the Outsider’s Mark, he was a man capable of making the extraordinary real.

“You want a lover. I was only curious about the primal matters of intercourse. Now my appetite is…”

The Outsider is capable of lying. Nothing prevents him from doing so. There are few shackles placed upon him. If nothing else, he has learned that even those restraints he thought bound him are malleable.

“I cannot be your lover, Corvo."

“But you will always let me love you.”

The Outsider frowns, “You have free will. You always will. Not I, nor anyone else in this world, can take that from you, dear Corvo."

“Do me one last favor, then?” Corvo asks.

The Outsider has given Corvo too much of his favor already. But looking at him now, the Outsider cannot deny him anything, “Speak.”

“Visit me, one last time, in the Tower courtyard.”

This they cannot do. Corvo knows what, who, the Outsider is. If anyone were to see them...no, it is impossible.

“Don't hide your eyes. I will not look at them, I promise. But do not hide them. No one else will know who you are.”

But the Outsider has appeared in dreams of too many people for that to be true. There are portraits painted throughout the isles that capture his features almost perfectly. Yes, there is a detail out of place, here or there, but he is not an anonymous god. He has never been.

“Fine,” he is weak for this man. 

\--

They do not get their opportunity right away. Corvo is delayed by a diplomatic trip he must take with the Empress, a gala in Morley, where she dances with her lover and Corvo stands, sulking in the corner. 

In a fit of careless boldness, the Outsider considers making a body in front of the assembled crowd of aristocrats. Of casting himself as a young stranger, so desperate for the attention of the Lord Protector, as to ask for his hand to dance. He thinks about many eyes watching them on the floor. The Outsider with the flush of youth in his cheeks and gestures. Corvo’s practiced grace leading them across the room.

He considers what his hands would look like in Corvo’s as they dance, the way the oil lamps would throw shadows across their skin. The chittering of already-drunk nobles all around them, passing possibilities concerning who the Outsider might be.

Corvo’s fingers would intertwine with his. They would both smile, secret, but seen by everyone. The Outsider would be meticulous in every detail, from the way his hair would fall against his forehead, to the leather of his shoes. He’d dress himself finely and hold Corvo close, dipping his head to whisper nonsense in his lover’s ear.

He wants them to know. He wants everyone to know that Corvo Attano has a bedmate, one fitting of his station. One who writhes for him, breath hitching in pleasure with each precisely placed touch. He wants them to imagine what they might look like in the throes of passion, what Corvo would look like with the quiet stranger impaled on his cock. 

Yes, what a stunning picture they would make on the dance floor. What a scandal. Such a scene would be amusing for all in attendance. Most of all for the Outsider, perhaps for Corvo too.

But this is not what they agreed to, so the Outsider doesn't arrive at the party. He waits, biding his time until Corvo returns to Dunwall.

\--

“I've come,” the Outsider announces, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. He tries his best to look unassuming, with clothing fit enough for an imperial guest, brass buttons on his coat and pant legs that fit the current, narrow fashion.

Corvo’s coat reaches down to his ankles, battling back the ever-encroaching cold. The chill is good for Dunwall, it keeps the southern pests from gaining a foothold here.

“You've come,” Corvo reaches out his hand, as if to shake the Outsider’s, as he would any close acquaintance. But Corvo has few friends. The Outsider accepts his hand, shaking it firmly. As promised, Corvo does not try to look into the Outsider’s eyes, his gaze focused in the middle-distance, somewhere to the side of the Outsider’s head. “Walk with me?”

Corvo leads them through the courtyards, around the huge, winding planters filled with short, hearty trees and sturdy bushes. It is difficult to grow flowers here. Blossoms must be shipped up from the South, when required.

The City Watch pays little attention to them, keeping their eyes averted. No doubt, they will gossip later, about the Lord Protector and his “friend.” Corvo must know this, but as they make their way down the path, closer to the sea, he stops them, taking off his coat, and putting it around the Outsider’s shoulders. “You look cold.”

He is. But he didn't realize his discomfort was so transparent.

They do not speak again until they are at the cliff side, overlooking the crashing waves. The way down is steep and rocky, though Corvo could traverse it with ease, blinking from ledge to ledge, until the sea foam catches in his hair. 

In this body, the Outsider could not follow.

It is a frail, weak thing he has made. But still, somehow, standing beside Corvo, he feels his construction is unbreakable. Taking the lapels of Corvo’s coat in his hands, the Outsider pulls them tight, fighting against the wind.

“Why did you want me here?” The Outsider finally asks, curious. “This is to be our last time together in the flesh. And you wanted me here.”

Corvo’s eyes do not wander, focused on the horizon ahead, “So I could pretend you are my lover,” he smiles. “You were correct in your assessment of me.”

“I've had a long time to learn your habits, dear Corvo. More than you've had to learn mine.”

“True,” he grips both hands against the railing, squeezing until his knuckles turn almost white. “I promised not to look in your eyes. But please, tell me something, anything, about yourself.”

“You mean before I was this?”

“He's part of you. He always will be. Our pasts don't leave us. No matter how long ago.”

The Outsider frowns, putting his hands against the metal railing too. Only now does he realize how the color has returned to his skin. The first body was so pale. Bone-white. But this one, this one is peachy-pink with life.

The Outsider speaks.

“I would go to the water, every morning. To wash my hands and face,” this is the memory that has remained. “Tiny, sparkling fish, like silver coins, would come to the water’s edge, nipping at my fingers. Like they were worms. I would,” the Outsider swallows, though his mouth is dry. His words taste like sand, “speak to them. Garbage words. But there was no one else to listen. I would talk to them and let them bite my fingers.”

Corvo knows well enough not to interrupt.

“One morning, I went to the waterside, to wash my hands and face. Speak to the fish, let them nip at my fingers. As I approached, I could see the light reflecting off the water, more brilliant and bright than I had ever witnessed,” he keeps his eyes on the rocky sea below them. Where he had visited as a boy, the water was serene, calm. With the weakest of waves. “The fish, my friends. Not a few dozen of them, but hundreds, thousands, were floating on the surface. Dead. Their mouths open.” The Outsider dares only to glance at Corvo’s hands, still wrapped around the railing. “That is how the Cultists knew, that I was the one.” The Outsider snickers, “It had been foretold….”

“You were a child,” Corvo finally speaks.

“I was. But I am not now. Not any longer.” The Outsider sighs, “Men in this age are just as weak, as superstitious, as corrupt, as violent. Year by year I wait for change. And it never comes.”

“But you love us,” Corvo repeats, “you believe in us.”

“I have no choice.” The Outsider never thinks of his duty as ‘love.’ But it is no burden.

Corvo. Corvo he may love. But it doesn't matter.

When he licks his lips, he tastes salt.

The Outsider can feel his face is wet. He's made another mistake with this body. He rubs his eyes, his hand coming away streaked with tears. Oh, oh no.

“I'll see you again,” Corvo says. Of course he will. Except it won't be like this. The Outsider cannot brave this again. His experiment is coming to an end. 

Pushing away from the railing, the Outsider asks, “Is it better if I fling this body into the sea? Save you the trouble?”

“The guards will think I killed you. No matter what we do.”

“Does that bother you, dear Corvo?"

Corvo nods, “Yes.”

The Outsider cannot help but smile, “You want them to talk. You want them to think you have a lover? Are you really so petty, that this is the final meeting you wished from me?”

“I told you. I know we will meet again, even if it is in the Void. So, yes, I want someone else to see. I want them to talk. So tomorrow, next week, next year, I'll know this was real.”

“Corvo...look at me.”

Corvo does.

They kiss, with the sea spread beside them. The water that will outlast them both as their witness. Even after the leviathans stop singing, the sea will remain, throwing its weight against the cliffs holding back the ruins of Dunwall, the seed of whatever civilization will follow. 

The Outsider cannot know for certain if he will survive to see the next attempt man has to offer, once this iteration has played out. He cannot see the future, only glimpse the possible. And, it is possible that he ceases to exist. Thrown back into the endless dark of Nothing. That which the Void holds back.

But he has had his experiment. He has had his Corvo. However briefly, however beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! Comments and kudos are always appreciated
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)


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